


i love you (don't you mind)

by whyyesitscar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa's thoughts during "Survival of the Fittest" as she watches Clarke sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i love you (don't you mind)

**Author's Note:**

> _finish the stories you've already started writing, car_ , you say. _no i would rather be multishipper trash thank you very much._
> 
> Inspired by [these tags](http://astano.tumblr.com/post/115210404392/i-will-never-believe-this-was-anything-but-the). Title and lyrics taken from "Me" by the 1975.

> _i nearly killed somebody; don't you mind, don't you mind_   
>  _i gave you something you can never give back, don't you mind_   
>  _you've seen your face like a heart attack; don't you mind, don't you mind_

Guilt and regret are not the same thing; Anya taught you the difference. (She allowed you to regret Costia. She did not permit guilt.) As you keep watch for the pauna, you wonder where Clarke will fall.

You are learning very quickly that Clarke Griffin cannot be categorized.

You have been listening to the pauna roar for the last four hours, ever since you awoke to find Clarke’s eyes drooping. You were thankful for the dark morning sky; it hid the smile you could not suppress. Clarke tried valiantly to stay awake but she is not Trigedakru. She is a protector masquerading as a warrior. Clarke can react to war very well. You wonder what will happen when she is finally called to act in one.

The pauna roars again and disturbs Clarke.

“It’s okay,” you tell her when she springs up from the ground. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes fall to the sling on your shoulder. “How’s your arm?”

“Hurts,” you tell her. Your back hurts even more after a long night of sleeping sitting against a tree. Clarke’s eyes are soft enough that you might tell her just how much pain you’re in if she asks. You are glad she doesn’t.

The pauna roars again and this time you both rise to your feet.

“We should go,” Clarke says. “That cage won’t hold forever.”

“Wait. I was wrong about you, Clarke,” you say. “Your heart shows no sign of weakness.”

_You saved me for the politics,_ you mean. _You were not sentimental. A leader saved a fellow leader today, no more._

There is a part of you that hopes you’re wrong.

/

You would have preferred to run back to camp, but Clarke insists on walking. With the way she looks at you when she insists, you think she might know about your back. You protest only because you know she expects it. Truthfully, you are glad for the slower pace.

“How _are_ your leaders chosen?” you ask.

Clarke tells you about elections and democracy—and, well, she should really back up to the government on the Ark because technically Clarke isn’t anywhere in the chain of command at all. She tells you about Chancellor Jaha, the man once imprisoned with Kane, and how he governed the Skaikru while they were still living in space. She tells you how Kane always coveted Jaha’s position, how he assumed it after falling to Earth, only to pass it on to Abby when he left to look for other survivors from the crash. Leadership, you gather, is not a stable entity in space.

“I am glad you assumed power,” you say when she finally stops talking. “The Skaikru would not have survived on the ground under Jaha’s rule.”

“Why?”

“He is too soft. He puts too much trust in a future that has not been ensured.”

Clarke laughs next to you. “Weren’t you saying the same thing about me a few hours ago?”

“I also just said I was wrong about you. A leader should learn to listen, Clarke.”

It takes her a moment to catch your smile. You’re rewarded with a shove to your shoulder when she does.

“Why did you change your mind?”

“You rescued me from the pauna for the benefit of your people. Because I am useful to you.”

“And if I had saved you for any other reason?” Clarke pushes. 

“Then I would be wishing Jaha was your chancellor after all.”

Clarke laughs again, though this time there is no joy in it. “Jaha isn’t as soft as you think. He had my father killed.” 

“Killing someone is not always strength. The strength is in the decision, not the act.”

“He was good friends with my father. I have to believe it wasn’t an easy decision.”

“If they were such good friends, why did he have your father killed?” 

Clarke stops walking. You watch her as she looks at you—she is deciding whether to answer, deciding if you have crossed a personal boundary. She is deciding whether to trust her trust in you. 

“My father was the engineer for the Ark. He found out that the air on the ship was running out and he wanted to tell the rest of the people. Jaha and the council didn’t agree, so Dad recorded a video in secret. They caught him in the middle of it and executed him for treason.”

There is much you still have yet to learn about the Sky People, you realize. They are unpredictable. It doesn’t exactly bode well for this alliance.

You started walking again when Clarke finished speaking. 

“Do you still think Jaha is weak?” she asks as she jogs to catch up to you.

“Your chancellor caused the death of a man who was trying to protect his people.” 

“Yes.”

“Thelonious Jaha should never have been a leader.” 

/

Finding refuge from the pauna took you farther away from your camp than you’d like. You have been walking for twenty minutes, and you estimate you have another forty ahead of you. There is only so much talk of the past that can fill them.

“What do Grounders—sorry, what do the Trigedakru”—she pronounces each syllable exactly, as if she is taking extra care not to stumble over your language—“well, what do you do when you’re not at war?”

“I don’t remember,” you answer honestly. Your people have been in some war or another ever since you were a child. Too early you were called on to lead that war. “Much of the same things Skaikru do, I suppose.”

“Skaikru were never at war until we fell to the ground.”

“Then what do you call your father’s fight with Jaha?”

“You’re a smartass, you know that?”

You look over at Clarke, your eyebrows furrowed and sincere. “No.”

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Commander,” she rephrases, and now you do know.

“Smartass,” you smile. “I’ll remember that one.” Clarke laughs with you and something flutters in your chest. “We aren’t a heartless people. We can have fun.”

“Just rarely.”

“When it is appropriate,” you correct.

“And when is the last time you had fun?”

“With Costia,” you answer. “Before—well. It’s been a long time.”

Clarke smiles at you, sadder this time. Her arm sways toward yours, her fingers reaching out absently. She stops herself before they touch and you pretend not to notice. “When this is all over,” she murmurs softly, “I’d like to hear about her. I mean, you know, if you want to talk.”

You nod. “Octavia would have gotten along well with her.”

Clarke laughs. “That’s frightening.”

“Yes.”

/

Clarke jogs toward camp when you start to see it, heading for Octavia who throws up her arms and waits impatiently to start talking. You hear Clarke say your name and “Did Bellamy ever tell you about gorillas?” before she launches into an explanation of recent events. You take that as your cue to find your people.

“Lexa, wait,” Clarke says as you pass her. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.”

“I’m not talking about the pauna.”

You nod. “I know.” Clarke nods back.

You can’t walk away fast enough.

/

There is little more to do at this point than wait for Bellamy to break into the mountain. Indra is hopelessly restless and the other warriors aren’t much better. But you sit in your chair and think, because there is too much to think about these days, it seems.

There were girls before Costia, feelings you couldn’t recognize until you learned how. There have been girls since, though you always keep them at a distance. There will always be girls and there will always be war, and you haven’t yet decided which will be harder to vanquish.

The camp quiets down as the night wears on, and you take no comfort in the yellow hair and shy smile that flit across your mind before you fall asleep.

You know now. You will regret Clarke Griffin.


End file.
